


For Thought

by sweettasteofbitter



Series: when in the springtime of the year [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 21:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11067918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweettasteofbitter/pseuds/sweettasteofbitter
Summary: Both Cassandra and Josephine have the habit of neglecting the call of their stomach when they are busy. Cassandra attempts to remedy this.





	For Thought

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> I was in the mood to write some pentilyet and my buddy Skitch came up with a great prompt that got my creative juices flowing...thank you friend!
> 
> This fic deserves a content warning for disordered eating/not eating when highly stressed.

Even though they are in a relationship, Cassandra doesn’t frequent Josephine’s office that often, and when she does it is always with a goal.

(Cassandra firmly upholds the conviction that catching a glimpse of Josephine is, in itself, a worthy goal, and so she might be deceived about the actual number of times she wanders into the Ambassador’s office. This time around, though, she truly is there with a reason that goes beyond “finding an excuse to look at Josephine”.)

“Josephine,” she begins, and Josephine looks up. “I know you probably have much work left, but if I arrange dinner for us tonight, will you take your time to have it with me?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Josephine says, biting her cuticles while swiftly turning her attention to her work and penning down something, only half-aware she is actually having the conversation.

Josephine looks tense. She has been looking tense for days. Cassandra wants to help her more than anything to help her ease her through these rough times. Cassandra cannot lie to herself: she is afraid Josephine is working too hard, and not paying attention to sustaining herself.

(Cassandra knows she is hardly one to talk – after all, she has been guilty of skipping lunch just so she could do a few more practice rounds in the courtyard - but still, Cassandra is more aware of Josephine’s wellbeing than her own – remarkable how that works when you’re fond of someone, she thinks.)

“Something simple?” Cassandra asks her. Josephine is a poor eater when she is succumbing to stress, and three courses would really overdo it. Josephine looks up, and her face softens, not entirely free of worry, but definitely headed that way.

“Yes, that would be lovely,” she says. She looks at the pile of work in front of her and sighs. It is her duty, and she is better suited to the task than anyone, possibly in the entirety of Thedas, so she picks up her pen and dips it in the inkwell. Her thumb is dotted with ink, and her nail halfway on its route to her mouth again.

Cassandra bids Josephine adieu and makes her way to the kitchens, speaking to a cook who owes her a favor (Josephine would be so proud of her, calling in favors and such). She arranges for a simple, one-course dinner to be brought to Josephine’s private chambers in the evening, at a time around which she hopes Josephine will start to realize that hunger pangs are keeping her from concentrating properly. Until then, Cassandra is occupied with her own matters, which include helping Cullen out with a fresh draft of Inquisition recruits, and - Maker help her – meeting with a nobleman who requested to see her specifically, and whom she would rather have avoided if Josephine’s bright, beguiling eyes hadn’t fooled her into agreeing to speak to this man.

In the end, Cassandra is quite drained from spending so much time in unfamiliar company that she enters Josephine’s private quarters in the evening and immediately takes off her boots. Josephine’s rooms have given Cassandra a feeling of comfort and domesticity she had to relearn, for she had mostly known gilded cages or barracks lacking privacy, and fairly little in between. It has been so long since she’s had this, this intimacy of sharing rooms with someone else, that it took her a while to feel comfortable with walking into this space. Now, though, she allows herself to relax between these walls with their delicately crafted tapestries, even when Josephine is not around to keep her company.

Cassandra washes her face and armpits and puts on a clean shirt. She leaves the ties on the front open and reads a book – no romance this time, but historical accounts of battles fought in the Western Approach - until the food is brought to the door.

Cassandra waits, sitting back in her chair. It doesn’t take long before she starts tapping her fingers on the table cloth and shuffling her feet back and forth against the wooden floor. She fidgets with her plate, her cutlery. She waits, and waits. After ten minutes she gets up and starts pacing up and down the room.

When Josephine finally shows up, after ten more minutes, the food has grown cold.

“I’m deeply sorry,” Josephine says guiltily, shoulders sagging, rubbing her neck with one hand. “I have been so busy with correspondence that I forgot to eat at all.”

“I was trying to prevent that from happening,” Cassandra says. There is no accusatory tone intended, but Josephine takes it as such, perhaps due to her own feeling of guilt.

“Oh Cassandra, you were so sweet, thinking of my needs, and now I have ruined it,” Josephine says.

“You self-pity is not needed right now” Cassandra regrets it the moment she says it. Josephine’s eyebrows shoot up, and now Cassandra is the one to feel embarrassment flood over her.

“I’m sorry.” Cassandra’s cheeks are burning. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“No, no, perhaps you are right,” Josephine sighs. She plays with the ruffled cuff of her sleeve. She presses her chin to her chest before looking up again and asking: “Tell me honestly, my love, have I been neglecting you?”

“No,” Cassandra says resolutely. She finds the very suggestion absurd. “You must do what you must. I am merely worried you are neglecting yourself. It is more difficult keeping up a decent work pace when you have not have had enough sleep, or a sufficient meal in your stomach, and you have been foregoing having either.”

“That is…a fair assessment. I _am_ starving, and exhausted.” Josephine says. Her stomach growls, and she looks at the dinner table behind Cassandra. “Perhaps something can still be salvaged.”

“The bread should still be good,” Cassandra says, pulling back her chair and taking a seat. “The vegetables might be a little soft but they should still be edible.”

Cassandra spreads butter on her bread to mask any possible staleness, and Josephine fishes colorful pieces of bell pepper from a bowl with her fork. Neither of them touch the meat.

Without much talking, they fill their stomachs. Josephine seems a little absentminded, but then Cassandra says something that makes her laugh, and underneath the table, Cassandra can feel Josephine’s toes brushing against her calf. Josephine appears to have toed out of her shoes, her foot warm against Cassandra’s leg. Cassandra looks at her; Josephine looks equal parts tired and mischievous, smiling and touching her bottom lip with her teeth. Whatever friction might have been between them has disappeared.

 “Hold on,” Josephine says, and stands up to leave. Cassandra misses the warmth of Josephine’s foot against her leg, misses the familiarity, the comfort. “I’ll be back in five minutes, I have to arrange something. It is not work-related, don’t worry.”

And so Cassandra is left to wait again. This time around, though, she trusts Josephine to know what she’s doing.

After exactly five minutes, Josephine returns, carrying a small glass bowl with a faint white-ish substance in it. A few cherries appear to be on top.

“It’s simple vanilla ice cream, but it’s all they had left.” She hands Cassandra a spoon and settles on the couch. She appears to have been walking fast, for she is a little out of breath. “Quickly, before it melts.”

Cassandra sits down next to Josephine and digs into the cold goodness. She picks up one of the cherries and puts it in her mouth, savoring the change in texture, the richness of the fruit.  

“Dessert to your liking?” Josephine asks.

“It’s excellent.” And it’s true, the ice melts directly against her tongue, a small joy.

“I hope this makes up for any of the inconveniences I- hmpf,” Josephine can’t finish her sentence, because Cassandra wields a spoonful of ice cream in Josephine’s direction and Josephine empties the spoon rapidly. Josephine quickly puts a hand in front of her mouth, and in her eyes Cassandra can see the laughter.

“This should not be your peace-offering every time,” Cassandra says sternly, and she scoops up another spoonful, emptying the bowl.  She merely hopes Josephine will try to take better care of herself in the future. Naturally, if Josephine needs a little push or shove from Cassandra to achieve this, Cassandra will gladly do so, but Josephine is an adult, and surely she can see that her own health matters more than any noble, any missive or trade agreement?

Josephine ducks her head. “It has become such a habit to set aside my own needs for work. But then, the Inquisition is very important, and I wouldn’t wish it to see doomed, and I…”

“Josephine,” Cassandra says, and puts the bowl on the tea table. “You are a very dedicated woman, and I admire that, but-“ how does she broach this subject without making it about herself? “I worry. I know we must sometimes look beyond our own needs, but as soon as we start to put ourselves in danger when it can – and should - be avoided, I cannot say I condone it. Especially not when it’s you.”

“I understand,” Josephine says, determination crossing her features. “I will try to do better.”

“I know,” Cassandra says, and, really, she can’t help herself, leans forward and kisses Josephine softly on the mouth. “And I think, perhaps we should not do much tonight at all. I will clean up and then, if it suits you, I will read to you.”

Josephine nods. Cassandra returns the tray with bowls and plates to the kitchen, looking forward to a quiet night spend in delightful company. Her step is lighter than it has been in days, and Cassandra actually finds herself holding up her head higher than she has recently.

When she enters Josephine’s rooms, however, she finds Josephine curled up, asleep on the couch. Her hair is messy, her bun has come half-undone and the strands tickle her cheeks. Cassandra takes a few seconds to cherish the sight of the powerful, ruthless Ambassador sleeping and breathing deeply. She loves the sight so much that she would hate to disturb it, and yet. The couch is no place for someone as graceful, as beautiful, as Josephine.

Cassandra hooks one arm around Josephine’s shoulders, one under her knees, and lifts her up. She moves slowly, afraid to hit the doorframe when she walks into the bedroom. The movement wakes up Josephine, just half, and she mumbles something incomprehensible.

“It’s all right,” Cassandra says, laying her down on the bed and putting a blanket over her. “Sleep.”

“You too,” Josephine manages to say. Cassandra hesitates, but then takes off her socks, her pants, and unpins her braid. She slips underneath the covers and curls herself against Josephine, who fits herself more comfortable against Cassandra’s front. It doesn’t seem to bother Josephine that she’s still wearing her day clothes, or that she hasn’t brushed her hair. Those are, after all, luxury problems to worry about in the morning – for now, they are content, together, and greeting the fade with open arms.

 


End file.
